


Every Ten Days

by kat_snow2613



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Arranged Marriage, F/M, Misunderstandings, Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-04
Updated: 2017-06-04
Packaged: 2018-11-08 18:24:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11087382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kat_snow2613/pseuds/kat_snow2613
Summary: Unhappy in their arranged marriage, Sansa grows suspicious of Jon.





	1. Chapter 1

Silence hung heavy between them. Sansa brushed her hair while Jon dressed. She watched him in the mirror. They made love once a month, a fortnight after she bled, as the Maester said that was the time most likely to produce a child. That was the purpose of this union. A union neither wanted, but a union nonetheless. 

So Sansa watched the moon, and counted the days. She noticed another pattern emerge. 

“Who is she?” she asked. 

“Who?” he replied, without even turning to face her. 

“Your mistress,” she said, her voice flat and cold.

Jon stopped dressing but still did not turn. She could see the muscles of his back tighten through his thin undershirt. 

“You think I’ve taken a mistress?” he said, the hurt obvious in his voice.

“Every ten days you go riding, alone. And every ten days, you’re gone, all day. Is it a girl in a village, a half day out, and a half day back? Some tanner’s wife whose husband brings his goods to market once every ten days?” she asked as the possibilities she’d conjured came to mind. “Or is she that wildling girl?”

His shoulders tightened. “After everything I’ve been through, you think I would risk making a bastard?” 

She hadn’t considered that. Jon knew what it meant to be a bastard, and he would never do that to a child. She had thought only of her own feelings, only of her own suspicions.

“Then where do you go that you can not tell your wife?” she demanded, all of her insecurities pooled together, settling into a sick feeling in her chest. 

Jon finally turned toward her. His face was screwed up in anger.

“I can not tell my wife that I ride to escape her disdain. I ride away from the disappointment I see on her face every day. I ride to be far from the people in my castle who look at me in pity, or those who snicker about why there’s not a babe in her yet,” he said, every word burnt by anger. 

He glaced at the stunned look on her face before continuing.

“There’s an old man, about a half day from here. he’s half blind but every ten days he finds his way to the market. I help him back to his hovel. He doesn’t know who I am, so he doesn’t pity me, or hate me, like you do,” Jon finished. He grabbed the last of his clothes and stormed from her room.

“I don’t hate you,” she said softly, after the door had slammed shut.


	2. Part 2

Ten days later, Sansa met Jon in the stables as he readied his horse. 

“Can I come with you?” she asked, trying to keep her voice steady so as to not betray her fear.

Jon stopped but didn’t say anything for a moment. He knew it would be rude to refuse her request, and if he was anything, he was polite.

“I have to help Tom today,” he said, halfway between refusal and consent. 

“That’s fine, I could help too,” she suggested. 

“Fine,” he said, and called for her horse to be readied. 

It was a quick ride to the market. Jon was silent the whole time.

At the market they passed the stalls and traders. Sitting on the periphery of the crowd they found an old man with white hair and a vacant stare. But when Jon called out to him, a smile broke out across his wrinkled face.

“Is that you my friend?” the old man shouted.

“Indeed, how’s your leg today?” Jon asked. 

“Same as always, for I am an old man!” he said, with laughter in his voice.

He squinted in Sansa’s direction. “Who’s this?”

Jon paused. He considered Sansa a moment before answering. 

“My lady wife.”

“Lady wife! I didn’t know you were married!” he said, breaking out into a toothless grin.

That hurt worst of all. Jon clearly cared for this man, and yet he hadn’t told him he was married. 

“I’m very pleased to meet you, Tom,” Sansa said, donning the mask of courtesy.

Jon helped Tom onto the back of his horse and they set off. It was slow going. The whole time, Tom told tales of his youth: the men he’d bested, the gambles he’d lost, the women he’d bedded. Jon gave a hearty laugh or a shocked gasp whenever was appropriate. 

Sansa had heard of the old Targaryen Maester at Castle Black, old and blind by the time Jon arrived at the Wall. She wondered if Tom reminded Jon of the old Maester. But then again, she wasn’t even sure if Jon had been close with him. There was so much about him she didn’t know.

They saw him safely to his small home. It broke Sansa’s heart to see how the lonely old man lived. Jon sat with him a few more moments before he said they must be off. Sansa realized more so than a ride from the market, Jon provided the man companionship. 

Jon was searching for something in his saddle bag. Sansa placed her hand over his. 

“This is a great kindness that you do,” Sansa said. Jon jerked his hand away. 

“I help an old man to his home. It’s no great feat,” he shrugged.

“It’s…” Sansa wasn’t sure of the words. “It’s something Father would do. You’re a good, kind, man,” she said softly. 

He still did not meet her eyes and simply said that they must be off to make it back before nightfall. 

*******

Ten days later Jon found her sewing. 

“I went to old Tom’s today,” he said, somehow making it seem an accusation.

“Is he well?” she asked.

“Very. In his home I found fresh blankets and furs, sacks of flour and corn, and a leg of pork,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. He finally looked at Sansa. “He said that guards from Winterfell had been by just a few days past, said they were making sure the elderly had enough to eat,” he stated. There was an edge in his voice and Sansa worried she’d made him angrier, if that were possible. 

“I’m sorry, I know that you don’t want him to know your identity, but I was worried about him,” she began, her voice rushed.

Jon ran a hand through his hair. He looked down at his feet. He was avoiding whatever he wanted to say next. 

“You didn’t have to do that,” he finally said. 

“He’s one of my subjects as well,” she said. 

“Still,” he said. “It was a kindness.”

Sansa felt her cheeks warm. Another man might sing of her beauty and grace, but for Jon to speak of her kindness meant so much more than any false praise. She didn’t know what to say so she simply toyed with the edges of the fabric. She wanted to put down her sewing, to go to him, to have him pull her into his arms and kiss her. But she was stuck in her seat, the wall of tension in their marriage preventing her from going to him, 

Jon turned towards the door but before he reached the latch he stopped. 

“Perhaps I can sleep here tonight,” he said, his voice and his body did not give away anything. 

“You are always welcome here,” she said. He nodded and left.

Sansa remembered her mother speaking of marriage as building a strong stone wall, brick by brick over the years. It occurred to Sansa that in her own marriage, she might have to knock down a wall before building a fresh one. Perhaps today, they had pushed away the first stone of anger, to make way for something better.


End file.
